


it's only weird when it's with a stranger

by zealousvagrant



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousvagrant/pseuds/zealousvagrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos reflects on Cecil's tattoos and what they do to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's only weird when it's with a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by this: http://wordsinhaled.tumblr.com/post/56183794462

The purplish-black lines of ink that adorn Cecil’s forearms are mesmerizing. Not just in the way they highlight the lean lines from elbow to wrist, but in the way they move, subtle, just beyond focus but exactly in the middle of what fascinates the scientist. Carlos stares, observing how they display remarkable sentience while still retaining a psychological bond to their wearer.

Cecil likes to joke that the angels took all the pigment from his body and made it into ink, only to give it back exactly seventy-six days after his thirty-first birthday, lively and 40% autonomous. He laughs.

"Angels don’t exist."

Not that it matters where they came from, because when they’re in bed later, they’re beautiful tentacles of smooth, buzzing light that stroke him and hold him with such tantalizing tenderness. Every squeeze makes that kiss in his car seem so far away, further than any other time in town has ever felt and he sighs. Carlos can’t quite place the mischief in his eyes as he moves above Cecil, hips rolling like storm clouds in a bright desert sky. Then he feels the purple tongues (more like lavender, at least the ones around his thighs are lavender) creep around his waist and tease his nipples and with an embarrassingly loud moan, he understands.

Afterwards, the lines slither back onto Cecil’s luminescent skin, his chest rising and falling with sated, giddy breath. Carlos almost misses them, their touch not unlike the sensation of sweat drying. He pretends the cool squirming between his thighs is tentative, friendly ink and drifts off to sleep.


End file.
